


Think of It What You Will

by aimmyarrowshigh, spacesbetweenseconds



Category: Stereo Kicks (Band)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 10:28:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3806983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aimmyarrowshigh/pseuds/aimmyarrowshigh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacesbetweenseconds/pseuds/spacesbetweenseconds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the end, there's a wad of loo roll on the bedside table.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Think of It What You Will

  
  
  
\-- [23.4.2015](https://twitter.com/StereoKicks/status/591179627353264128)  


Really, when they aren't working, Tom sleeps _ridiculously_ late for Barclay's taste. He's an early riser, to be fair, but he's brought Tom a cuppa hours ago and Tom barely even stirred. It's so nice out for a change, too, sunny and warm enough for shorts and a vest, and Barclay just wants to go out and _do_ something already. They might have the day off, but that doesn't mean they should just be lumps.

He'd ring Jake or James, but if Tom's still in bed, then they will be for hours. Casey's probably in bed, too, but... with Betsy, and that's different. He won't ring Casey.

He does have enough common sense to let couples be. Although it's still a strange thing, for him, to know that Charlotte's no longer in the picture. Sometimes it takes waking up next to a sleeping Tom to realize where they are now. Where they could be.

It's not like, he's not -- he's not calling him and Tom a couple. Really. Much as he'd like to be able to.

The lines, they're a little blurry at best, but they're there. They exist. He thinks.

He opens the window and sticks his head out to exhale smoke into the breeze. Tom doesn't like for the whole flat to smell of cigarettes, and Barclay tries to be nothing if not polite. Charming Kick and all.

He stubs out the butt on the windowsill and makes up his mind: he is going to wake Tom up. He'll sit on him again if need be.

His resolve wavers when he reaches the door. He's a bit more timid than he'd like to be, considering that it's his room too.

Hoping not to startle Tom--or not startle him preemptively anyway--he presses the side of his body against the wood, gently twisting the knob but not pushing the door in just yet.

Maybe he should have made another cup of tea. Although Tom hadn't even drunk the first. Rather rude.

No. No, he decides. He's going in, and he's going to wake Tom up, and they're going to _do_ things. It's a doing things kind of day, and time in bed is time wasted.

He doesn't hear the dramatic moaning until he puts just the slightest hint of pressure on the door.

The blankets are all rucked up around Tom's ankles. And so are his pants, a flash of bright green cotton ringing one ankle as though that somehow counts as not being totally naked in the middle of the day.

Because he is, otherwise. Totally naked.

Barclay can't blame himself for getting a little hard at the sight; he _has_ been half in love with Tom since day one.

He's flustered, and he's not entirely sure Tom has noticed him yet. Or he has, and he's not panicking. Barclay isn't sure which is worse.

The ipad beside Tom on the bed is a writhing mass of legs that -- surely that's more legs than are normally involved in sex. At least the sex Barclay's had. Jesus, is that the kind of sex Tom has? No wonder he's been... whatever. It's fine. They're all lads here.

It's not like Barclay hasn't been in the room when Tom's wanked before. He's been in the room when all of his bandmates have wanked, except Charlie, who has never wanked because he is a tiny child without anything under his bellybutton other than weirdly giant feet. It was just a thing that happened in the X Factor house; seven lads in one room, you couldn't really get privacy. If the bunkbed was a-rocking, you just... didn't say anything.

This is...uncharted territory for Barclay. There are distinctly only two boys living in this room and in this house. He's not sure of the protocol. Best just to act like nothing is weird.

"Oh, hey. Porn's on. Neato."

Definitely not weird.

He says 'neato' all the time. As do all people.

Tom's eyes fly open and he stares at Barclay. His hand is still around his cock, and he's staring at Barclay. "Neato? Mate, really?"

"Yeah." And Barclay's shucking down his shorts. He's all in. This situation can be fixed, and also: porn is on, and he's nineteen. Lads, and all that. "Budge up, I can't see. What's this one?"

"It's. Um." Tom is flushed, and Barclay's pretty sure he can't have been doing anything for very long, if he's still able to have banter. Granted, he wouldn't put it past Tom to call it banter if Barclay told him he had a nice cock.

And he does. But Barclay keeps his mouth shut, riding on thin ice as it is.

"She's pretty." He figures that's enough to break the silence. "Got a really good, um, mouth."

"So does he. You, uh, you missed that bit."

"Oh." Barclay kicks his pants off his own ankle, because he doesn't have to be ridiculous even though Tom is. And then he pulls off his shirt, because wearing a shirt without anything on the bottom is the worst feeling in the world. "Right, well. Is it necessary for the plot, or will I be able to catch up?"

"You should be fine." Barclay follows Tom's gaze down his own chest, and the attention makes him feel warm in his belly. Tom shakes his head and looks back at the iPad. "Best part's still a few minutes ahead, anyway."

"Cheers." Barclay figures he should get up to speed in the real world, so he gives himself a few experimental tugs, pausing to give his hand a lick. Tom looks back over at him and wordlessly offers an already opened bottle of lube, but Barclay shakes his head. "I like it rough, mate."

Tom nods like this is very important information. Maybe it is. "Good to know." 

He scoots over on the mattress to make more room for Barclay to climb up and sit beside him, because apparently this is happening.

Barclay gets an urge to rest his head on Tom's shoulder, just like he would if they were watching any other film. It's weird, for them to be in this bed together and not be snuggled as close as possible. But, he supposes, this is different. For starters, they both have a hand on their cocks.

He's close enough to Tom, now that he's on the bed, that he can feel the heat radiating off his sleep-warmed skin. Can see his perked up nipples encircled by a few dark hairs, and the little roll of pudge around his belly. It's making it very hard for Barclay not to reach out and touch.

"I can't see," Barclay says, and when Tom's head whips around, mouth very small, he coughs and adds, a hair too quickly: "The screen. Your knee's in the way."

"Right. Yeah." Tom straightens out his leg, trying to give Barclay a better view of the movie he isn't really watching. It's well done, as tasteful as porn can really get, and the sounds they're making are...amazing. But Barclay can't tear his eyes away from how good Tom's muscles looked all stretched out like that.

Tom's spared a glance or two his way, too. But Tom's not quite as shameless as he is. Not yet.

His voice is still soft and a little raspy when he mutters, "View alright?"

Barclay knows that Tom doesn't really mean the ipad. "Yeah, s'great."

Neither does he.

What comes up next must be Tom's favorite part, because he starts pumping faster, the wet sounds of his lube-slicked cock making Barclay's mouth fall open.

Now he really does need to get a good grip on his own cock. He's so close to Tom that he can see everything and hear everything and smell everything, the scent of him so strong and even if Barclay hadn't found him, it would be clinging to their bedsheets, theirs, because they sleep together in this bed and Barclay knows that his own smell is on the pillows, too.

Is that why Tom hadn't moved? He could have done this in the shower. But he didn't. And he didn't even lock the door.

Barclay wanted to believe, when they had moved in together, that something would be different. He knew better, knew that it was just a lads place, but he couldn't exactly shake wanting Tom this way. But maybe, there was something there. A little something, just barely forming, but. Something.

And then, well. Tom had broken up with Charlotte, and --

Tom grunts something unintelligible and Barclay startles.

"What?"

"Good part," Tom grunts again, nodding down to the screen. But he glances Barclay's way, and his eyes don't move again.

"Yeah," he murmurs, pretense of the iPad gone by this point. They're looking at each other, now, Tom's eyes only straying to look up and down Barclay's body. "getting there."

Tom nods, eyes wide. He catches his lip between his teeth and then releases it, even plumper and redder than before. God, Barclay wants to kiss him.

But that's not -- he can't do it first, and he can't just do it like this. Not while they're wanking. Not for their first kiss, at least. 

But someday. Fuck, someday maybe he'll get to kiss Tom while they're doing this. His cock slicks itself a bead more, likes that idea _a lot_.

"'M, ahh..." Tom says, looking like he's in another world. His eyes roll back, eyelids flickering as he twists his upward stroke. "Close."

Barclay wants to save this moment, play it back like his own favorite porn. He watches Tom's abs tense, the lightest sheen of sweat coating them. There are so many things he wants to say, wishes he _could_ say, without scaring Tom off.

And then --

Tom buries his face in Barclay's neck, right where it's soft against the join of his shoulder, and it can't be comfortable because they're next to each other, bony joints all in the way, but he _does it anyway_. He doesn't touch Barclay anywhere else. He doesn't say anything. Doesn't press his lips to Barclay's skin in a kiss, or anything like that. Just hides his face, eyelashes ticklish where they nestle against the pumping vein in Barclay's neck.

The sleepy sex-smell of Tom's shampoo is everywhere, and Barclay can feel the slight vibration of his soft sounds in his throat.

Even with his lip bitten Barclay can't stifle his groan, pulling up to try and catch his come in his fist. He closes his eyes and rides it out, relishing the rushed movement of Tom's arm, the whimpers muffled by his own hot skin.

"Fuck, what the fuck." Tom's muttering low and rough as he comes, his mouth soft against Barclay's shoulder, and he sounds as bewildered and overwhelmed as Barclay feels.

"Fuck, indeed." Well, acting like there was nothing strange going on was how he got into this, so Barclay figures that's the best thing to do. At least until he can suss out how Tom's feeling. "Could you be a dear and pass the loo roll, Mann?"

"Er, yeah," Tom says. "S'pose that's better than if I had to lend you a sock."

"Don't exactly feel like doing a wash right now."

Tom laughs and nestles his face against Barclay's shoulder, scrubbing his stubble against the skin to make it pink. Just like he always does.

Barclay's sex haze is making him feel a little daring, so he rests his lips comfortably on Tom's head, burying his face in Tom's hair. It's not a kiss, not exactly. But it still feels right.

Tom reaches blindly for the bedside table and with lazy fingers bats the loo roll onto the bed. Neither of them really makes the move to mop up.

"I still can't believe you got that thing," Tom says, laughter breaking through his tired voice. He reaches his clean hand up to run his fingers along the dragon creature's spine. Barclay can feel Tom's smile against his skin.

"I still can't believe you all let me." Barclay harrumphs a bit, and it rustles Tom's hair. "Some friend you are."

"Yeah," Tom says softly. "Some friend."

Barclay brings his hand to Tom's bicep and softly squeezes it, letting his comment settle between them. He's not sure he needs words just yet. He does, however, need to get clean, because he can feel his other hand starting to get too sticky for comfort.

"Well," Tom says, beating him to the punch, "I'm going to shower, because I've been in bed all day like a lump. What's the plan after? Is it raining?"

"I actually came in here to wake you up because it's nice outside." Barclay gasps as he remembers the golden opportunity facing them. "We should wear our matching vests!"

Tom snorts as he stands. "Alright, weirdo."

He throws the wadded-up tissue at Barclay's face. Barclay watches him go, then tosses the two tissues onto the bedside table. They can deal with all of this later.

**Author's Note:**

> #sorrynotsorry


End file.
